Parasiticus Vaecordem
by Meridian Diamond
Summary: What if you can change yourself to be more emotionally stable to control both your mental and emotional qualities? The two catalysts' aspects coincide to create an entity with careful and less feeling-prone logical inquisitiveness. Enter Len, a host of split personalities out of control who fight over dominance. Gore, Implied Naughty, RxL - Bug-Eaten Psychedelic Rhythm (O.O)


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**9 /_O_\ 9**

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The darkness and the silence he was so accustomed to engulfed him, its tentacles slithering around his body as he faded into nothingness once more. He knew that if he wakes up again, it'll be a whole new death that stands waiting for him. He'd be back. He'd always return.

Inside the void of his mind, there wasn't one, but two working, thinking minds that reside.

He would have died.

But he didn't.

His everyday life was different from the others: They're mostly the same. Except he had to live with two opposing forces that were coincidentally both unbalanced in their cerebral and limbic qualities.

Kagamine Len didn't know what was going on in his mind. For now, maybe… Because if his minds continue disputing over every single disagreement about even the simplest decision he makes…

His eyes fluttered open in his aghast at the wake of his last death, which came out late. Had he not suffered a quick almost death, he would've screamed at the pain, but he had, and he hadn't had enough time to react. He glanced at his surroundings: Nothing but the seemingly peaceful and empty void it once was before he was killed yet again.

It was still the same distorted space he steps foot in every day of his life. It's the place where everyone's been to, where all the disturbed are trapped in, and where the people who're supposedly like him can concentrate on stabilising their equilibrated brains: The human mind. However, even in his kind he was different. And by different, it was harmful at the most to his body.

As of now, she still wasn't fully "awake." He figured he wouldn't have enough time left if she actually will show up, which he guessed was soon now that he's spent seven seconds still wondering, so he checked if he truly was reborn properly: The wound he's been inflicted with was gone, and his skin was smooth and clean like nothing of the sort happened to him. His clothes weren't ripped. It's like he never died again.

He was kneeling on the groundless space, beneath which he could see remnants of his memories mixed together rippling with each thought of his body—the domain was anything but his: Call it what you will, but because of his and _her_ fighting over dominance, he wasn't the one controlling himself. And every time they fight over dominance, there was always a new strategy. A new weapon. A new death. A new way to kill. Sometimes they needed to get creative because for fear of what the other expected: Old tricks will be a weakness.

There had been no such a match that both of them lose or win, because there's always someone who seizes control over the other.

They were absolutely on a par: The number of times they won was the same, as with the number of times they'd lost. No one can be of higher measure, no one can be of lower; they _were_ him, and he was himself. Two separate entities that were split; that were what he should probably call the two of them.

She was his other half, and he hers. It was unfortunately the strange bond between the both of them had that made them like this.

Wouldn't he ever get tired of losing and winning? Never. Not until he truly won.

Len craned his neck to warm up: A flood of indecent memories of his last death washed over him as he closed his eyes. He had been running—being chased—the fear that had been both goading his clumsy legs and saving him kept him to move on. His limbs could only carry him so far, and the only thing that had inspired him to run was his sick determination to get back on the track and slay _it_. Each slow movement of his stiff muscles brought him closer to the endless forever shape-changing path.

Then he'd heard a noise. A sound not far from what he disturbingly thought was a knife cutting through wet meat.

He had stopped; his entire being froze; his blood turned to ice, and soon they had pooled out of the wound and wetted his shirt. He was dazed, struck like he had been betrayed by his best friend. His body was so quickly numbing, he couldn't tell where the blade kissed his flesh. Given the circumstances, however, his shaken thoughts told him he'd been stabbed in the back.

With what little strength he had left, he'd turned around—

But as he did, the knife had dug itself deeper, twisting ruthlessly. And then he'd blacked out.

When he died like that, he didn't feel the pain immediately. This happened to him once or twice before, and was chagrined to let his guard down at the time.

It was a kind of game they play—one that had no ending. In fact, it was just ironically a series of endings in this realm of thoughts: A vile foul play to seize dominance over their host.

Len was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a groan from behind him.

His eyes widened at his luck: He was the first to find consciousness.

There, lying on the floor was _her_.

A small childlike face was hidden behind her flaxen hair that fell to her shoulders with her face down. She was smaller than Len, but just as formidable. Her entire body was a deceptive form that people of average intelligence wouldn't have the cognisance to fathom. For reasons unknown to them, their attire was an identical pair: Len's the boy's and hers the girl's. The darkness that wreathed around her body was slowly fading as she regained consciousness.

When she awoke, she raised her head, her face still hidden by her hair, concealing what Len was sure of was a pair of heterochromia iridum eyes like his.

He slowly made his way toward her, vigilance in every step. In his vest he conjured a small blade, drawing it out as carefully as he could.

Now he was standing just above her vulnerable body.

Guilt didn't weigh him down—it never did—whenever he kills this devious girl. He didn't know how to fully terminate her existence, but it drove him insane how she's not dead.

Things like peace…are only **e**_g_**o**_s_.

He raised the knife above his head and plunged—but before his knife could rip her flesh, pain squirted from his eyes in the form of blood. His good eye—or his bad eye—he couldn't tell anymore—was pierced by a foreign object, sharper than a blade. It might've seemed so because it incised his precise weakness.

Quickly he dropped the knife he's holding to writhe in pain, gasping, panting—clouds hovered over his vision, and he couldn't see. His other eye was slightly easier to see with, but it couldn't have been more than like looking through a vaporous window in the night.

Blood pounded in his ears, and they surged out of him through his socket. He fell on the floor, drowning in his own blood. Just before he passed out again, his vision got clearer and got blurrier, and he pieced together frames of the girl dropping to her knees as well, one hand over her eye.

He feebly lifted the corners of his lips from frowning.

The singularity of proliferating thought was **e **_x _**t **_r_ **i **_c _**a** _t_ **e **_d_

They were the same.

And _s_**h**_e_ hated it.

Len's sight was gone first before his hearing, so in the darkness he heard a shrill scream which could've made him smile.

Len woke up in his sleep, feeling wan and beaten.

Was it possible to feel more tired in his slumber than in his wake?

His head pained, and he lied down on his bed.

**/\**

**/ o \**

**\ o /**

**\/**

He'd materialised again long before he realised it, and he'd been warped into a new dimensional plane that separated him from his mind and what he could see in the even reality. Len'd swiped the knives laid on the table of the illusory background as it malformed into the same passage into which he was sucked every time. He'd heard his footsteps make noises like fast heartbeats as he raced through the kaleidoscope-like space.

In no time aught, he'd stopped sprinting, almost immediately shifting his stance.

She'd been standing there for a while now, waiting for him. He's her death. And he hers.

They'd both had a stiletto with equally fine blades. Len clutched on his weapon's handle tightly, gritting his teeth.

He couldn't **u**_n_**d**_e_**r**_s_**t**_a_**n**_d_ his emotions, so he couldn't _c_**o**_n_**t**_r_**o**_l_ them

Without her, there'd be no parasite. Without her, he'd house her unseen entity no more.

Razors clashed, and the piercing noise torn asunder the silence.

He panned her to the heaving floor with his knife scraping against the edge of hers. She's at the brink of losing, but she, as he prided himself in knowing, wouldn't give up till blood spills, even if it's hers.

She can't have him

Agitation was driving her to struggle and squirm underneath him: Finally she successfully parried his slash. The freedom of forces from the clash made a repelling impact upon Len—he recoiled, but it only lasted a moment. He immediately turned the tables again, fury breaking out of him from failing to maintain his brutal self-discipline, which stalled his wrath for only so long.

**H**_e _**w**_o_**n**_'t _**l**_e_**t **_h_**e**_r_

He thrust his palm to slam her hand that held the weapon to the ground, crushing it for good measure: The knife instantly slipped away from her grasp and it clattered to where she couldn't reach it from where Len made sure she'd stay. She uttered a hopeless gasp that Len thought was pathetic. Her right hand bled; the wounds from her own stiletto unrelenting. His left hand imprisoning it was soaked with her blood.

With his other hand he ripped her dress apart, so intent on profaning her that the supremacy was more seductive than the sole reason for the existence of what he intended to do to her.

Rape served another purpose.

**I**_'l_**l **_v_**i**_o_**l**_a_**t**_e _**y**_o_**u**

She'd squirm. She'd coil her legs around his waist, beg for him to stop. She'd twist in agony at his pace. But he'd hear the pleasure that demoralised her, the obsession of it that knocked her voice off key. He'd hear the loving enunciation in her tone that ill-suited her words—her _l_**i**_e_**s**.

He'd refuse to stop. He wanted to hurt her. He'd shot through her like a pellet gun. He'd exhale seductively on her cold skin, his hot breath been tingling her senses. He'd lick her everywhere he'd please—and wherever that made her struggle **p**_l_**e**_a_**s**_e_**d** him.

She'd been ashamed of herself—his onslaught had not been the least gentle, but she couldn't even fight back. She twitched and flailed—yet he'd always find a way to drag her back. Her hand had only raised her torn dress up to her torso to hide the sight from his eyes, knowing full well that he had the upper hand. He'd fling her hand away and wolf her down.

He'd chew on her body—blood and saliva were everywhere—he'd taint her. He'd mock her of how impure he'd despoiled her. He delighted over her vain attempts to escape: It's futile. What he's doing was merely unadulterated vengeance—he'd goad at her spitefully for being so pathetic to stop him.

I'll strip away your **v**_i_**r**_g_**i**_n_**i**_t_**y**

Her body was so frail and small that even in his least efforts, he'd break her. Right now he wasn't even _t_**r**_y_**i**_n_**g**. How she's equal to him, he'd never know. She'd always never live long enough for him to see her mortified face in the process of his killing her—the rare horrified expression she tried to put a mask on this moment was a memory that he locked up inside him.

Before he ripped her of her clothes she knew—she'd lost. The second he saw the look in his eyes—it was hunger. Not lust. Just cold emotionless **s**_a_**d**_i_**s**_m_.

The way his fingers caressed her skin; the way his hands crush her; they're two unalike crazes to take pleasure on. He knew nothing—he didn't know this—but she did. And the pain she'd endure…They're two completely different things. To her, at least.

Because she's the one who's suffering.

He relished the squelching sound of her blood squirting from her flesh—he just about lost it when she screamed.

Screamed his name.

Their name.

_H_**e**_r_.

This part of himself that he calls…_'R_i_n.'_

_B_**u**_r_**n **this **d**_e_**s**_i_**r**_e _into your _e_**y**_e_**s**

Len throttled her neck and aimed to slit her slender throat. The last he saw was simple fear that flashed in her eyes that weren't unlike his before her blood blinded his eyes with the red.

A sudden jolt caused him to drop to his knees again—something he hadn't felt for a long time.

He's so confused. This wasn't wrong. This was immoral.

Tremors shook him as he cried out in frustration.

Len coughed out blood.

Throbbing, pounding was the only thing that reminded him that his heart was still functioning.

He's struggling with himself to live.

He slowly exhaled, making every breath count, as it might be his last.

**| : : |**

She was there.

Standing.

He took his time to hoist himself up slowly.

He didn't look at her, but he knew she's there. Waiting.

She always waited.

Len felt less impassive than he did earlier. He's tired. This feud can't go on forever, and they knew it.

He sensed her movements before he motioned to cast a gentle sidelong glance.

_G _**r **_o _**w **_o_**l**_d_

_F _**a **_l _**l**_** i**__ n _**l**_o_**v**_e_

_R_ **e **_W _**i **_N _**d**

They kneeled on the floor, staring at each other, trying to grasp what the other's eyes were telling.

He was feeling hatred of her sharing his mind no longer. He mulled it over and over to himself that the absence of violence he felt that made him feel insecure was just a leftover reaction…

Inch by inch they made their way to each other, the ache of not standing each other's presence dispersing into something more human…

She didn't even flinch when he softly stroked her warm cheek.

_U_**n**_d_**e**_r_**s**_t_**a**_n_**d **_t_**h**_e _**t**_i_**m**_e _**o**_f _**y**_o_**u**_r __**death**_

She kissed him deeply on the lips.

_I_**'m **_S_**o**_R_**r**_Y_

**\./**

**/…\**

**\/**

His tears dribbled to the ground. He watched longingly as the light vanished, leaving him alone in the dark inexorable blackness wherein his thoughts looped distorted.

Len touched the mirror that stood in his room.

He hoped he'd see his other reflection again.

Instead, two very miserable red eyes stared back at him.

He just lost a part of himself when they merged together…

**T**_h_**a**_n_**k **_y_**o**_u_

…In the end, ignoring your emotions makes you ignorant of humanity.

**/.\**

**/... ...\**

**|[]…[]|**

**\... .../**

**\./**

**As you would've probably not guessed, the main character here's a manifestation of the main thinking source of his brain; himself in his mind. Rin here is a manifestation of a parasite of his other personality, which has been implanted inside him =3 The setting's in Len's BRAIN xD Based on Bug-Eaten Psychedelic Rhythm, but more focused on the relationship. LEN'SDOMINANTTHEREGODWHATDIDIMISSBUTIT'SSOCOOL (The title's…Latin. Credit goes to Google Translate. But blame me for wrong grammar D=) This's not related to the prequel of the song this was based on: I just thought the idea was neat, and it compelled me XD But you can imagine all you want! That's why I made this overly questionable. You might be asking, 'You just wrote this directionless story as an excuse to write a lemon out of one picture that lasted 8 seconds from the PV, right?' The answer is unequivocally YES.**

**So, he's got two personalities: Rin and Len. They always 'kill each other and re-spawn' in his brain to claim dominance. They're both very unstable personalities, as they're the two sides of the brain; right and left respectively. Len doesn't understand "feelings" because the brain's left side doesn't control them; the right side does, therefore only Rin understands. At the ending he's very frustrated because "love" is beyond his comprehension. Yes, this's a very…pointless Oneshot ._. Back to Whose Fanfiction it is, then!**

**...I reread this and thought this'll make as much sense to you as Math does to me. Unless you're smart enough to derive what this story's about =o**


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